The Chauffeur
by novakirkland
Summary: AU. In which Arthur is a driver, hopelessly in love with his French boss.


**AN: So, I'm moving my writings here, to keep everything in one place... this is the lucky #1 ;D**

Hetalia and its characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.  
Non-profit Writing ~

* * *

Being able to just _look_ through the rear-view mirror was enough for him.

One leg crossed over the other with delicacy, the left hand resting in one knee, the right elbow propped on the base of the window and the free hand holding his chin. Silky, wavy blond hair tied back in a ponytail with a black velvet ribbon; outside lights dancing upon his face creating the most _perfect_ shades and _painfully_ deep blue eyes staring into nowhere… much less in Arthur.

The Englishman sighed, resigned, yet he couldn't stop thinking that his passenger, no, his _boss_ – and god, how he hated that word – was utterly gorgeous.

And there were times like this, in which said man thought no one was looking at him, that in the back seat of the car, or even in the car itself, he was all alone; without knowing that in the process, his driver was left absolutely breathless…

Just like every day.

Arthur spoke to him once, when he got the job, to introduce himself as the perfect gentleman he was. But that was all.

And as time wore on, Arthur realized that he couldn't have gotten a job that shatter even more his heart and his soul like this one did. Being not only the driver of his boss but also of his _companions_ - sometimes men, sometimes women – minutes before their meetings, pretending not to care, hoping not to fail at the attempt.

It seemed easy at first because these people were discreet, there were no conversations in the car and not a single demonstration of love – or whatever the sentiment – but Arthur _knew_.

He knew why they were there, where they were going and what they were about to do.

He promised to be strong, but each day was more painful than the last.

And it hurt him even more when, by chance, his green eyes met the blue ones through that famous mirror, and that strange but not unpleasant feeling emerged from the pit of his stomach... until blue turned away with no reaction, as if nothing had happened, while the driver's heart was beating so hard that he thought it could be heard even miles away.

Keeping that promise was becoming increasingly difficult; the pain in his chest was so intense and the lump in his throat sometimes made it impossible to breathe.

So Arthur quit his job.

But after a month, at a pub, someone gently touched his shoulder and asked for his name.

And when he turned to see who it was, the green met the blue again, and with a trembling voice – that for his own sake he would say it was due to the alcohol- he replied:

"A-arthur…"  
"Francis Bonnefoy."

An outstretched hand, a charming smile and a heart that seemed to fall out in pieces.

Because he didn't remember him.

And a couple of drinks later, they were in the apartment which address Arthur knew perfectly well. Hard breathing, hands moving, desperate kissing. The Brit saw his jacket fall to the ground as he ran his fingers through that long neck and those incredibly soft strands of golden hair. He smiled when he found those blue eyes finally looking _only_ at him_._

_No._

Fingers tangled in his hair, gentle but firm…

_This is nothing._

Skilled hands that knew exactly where to touch…

_You're just one more._

A trail of kisses that started from his neck, across his jaw, ending near his ear…

_Don't get hurt._

And a whisper…

"Arthur…"

He abruptly backed away, trying to catch his breath at the other man's confused look.

All this was wonderful, but this dream come true will be also his undoing, and Arthur wasn't sure if he could endure that kind of pain.

He looked around and noticed his jacket dropped on the carpet, he picked it up and walked over the door without saying a word.

"Arthur… don't go, please."

He turned on his heels, staring at the floor.

"I can't do this…just… find someone else… I- I can't do this and then go on as if nothing had happened." he said, and suddenly he found the courage to look at the other man's eyes _"_I'm dying to have you, to feel you… but I can't be one of your one-night lovers, Francis… my heart just can't."

Then he realized what he had just said, and he cursed at the stars and the queen and himself for such exposure of feelings, before turning again to leave that room once and for all.

"Who said that a one-night stand is what I want from you?"

Arthur stopped, in silence, his hand on the doorknob.

"I noticed, you know?"

Does he remember, after all?

"I told a friend once, in the car, that my favorite flower was the rose… and I noticed that from the next day on, you always had a red rose on the dashboard…"

Francis said with a smile.

Arthur dropped his arm.

"And that thermo mug filled with coffee that you handed me every morning even though that wasn't your job… or those days when I was feeling down and somehow you knew it and then you turned on the radio just to cheer me up. I know you did it for me because I also noticed how you wore this slight frown on your face each time a new song was starting, but it was my favorite station so you leave it that way…"

"But I was so afraid, afraid that I might be misunderstanding your details, afraid that if I made any movement to get close to you, you would look at me with disgust and then start running away."

"I'm a coward, Arthur. And I never was afraid of anything in my life… can you not see what you've done to me?"

Finally Arthur turned around and looked him in the eyes again.

"You quit, and I knew I had to find you. I had nothing to lose since you were not with me anymore." he sighed "Don't go Arthur, S'il vous plaît…"

But Francis didn't receive an answer but a kiss, a sweet and hopeful kiss, and a pair of arms clinging to his neck.

When they parted they were silent, foreheads resting on each other.

Until Arthur looked up, clearing his throat.

"So, Mr. Bonnefoy, Did I hear you were still looking for a driver?"

"Non, you heard wrong – he smiled – "I'm looking for a lover… someone who stays," – and his hand made its way to caress the other's cheek – "Do you take the job?"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Of course, you twat."– and he smiled too, coming over and reaching for another kiss, as if that was their way of sealing the contract.

And his jacket - just like the rest of his clothes- resumed his place on the carpet.


End file.
